I was inside and yelling before I realized I'd moved. The woman stood frozen, a big, red welt on her cheek. The man stared insolently at me, hands on his hips. Crudmunger was daring me to touch him. He gave the woman a push, making her stumble backward. I started forward, fists clenched.

  And felt myself lifted off my feet.

  "Let me go, you munger," I yelled. "I'm gonna smash that crudmucker's void-loving brains out."

  I thrashed, trying to get my hands on com-talker.

  "Stop," said Traz. "Do not squirm."

  I squirmed, I fought, I yelled. I hadn't been so enraged since I'd set fire to the Academy. I felt like a sun, a supernova, a canon burning with plasma. I clawed at Traz's hands, calling him names, screaming at the com-talker that I was going to kill the crudmunger, cut his head off, rip his heart out.

  A punch ended my screams. Riina whacked me with the palm of her hand, snapping my head to the side. Everything swam before my eyes, and I became violently sick, spewing cherry juice down my brown Dromoni shirt before collapsing.

  I came to with a light shining into my eyes, and the taste of bile in my mouth. Traz still held on to me, at the center of a gathering of Dromoni aristocrats. They were divided into two half-circles, with me and Traz in the middle. None of them looked pleased.

  The light was Saradon, with a tiny flashlight.

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  "Raven juice?" he said. "Did he mention anything about it?"

  "Complimented the tart taste," Traz said. "Said it heightened the texture of the food. I had to agree. It was a good combination."

  "Jakob," Saradon said. "Can you hear me?"

  Strange question. Of course I could hear him. I tried to say so, only to find my tongue not quite up to the task. It was entirely numb.

  I opened my mouth, and gargled a reply.

  "Tongue numb?" Saradon said, and I nodded. "Sounds feel dimmed? As if you were listening under water?"

  I hadn't thought of that. Somewhat. Not entirely. I tries saying so, and failed.

  An elder man with the impassive face of a protégé, sank down beside Saradon. He opened a carrier bag, revealing a very complete, very chromed, and very miniaturized medkit. A doctor. With the most advanced medkit I'd ever seen. These people were swimming in money. I opened my mouth to comment on it, but Riina put a hand across it.

  "Don't talk," she said. "Don't do anything unless I explicitly tell you. Do you understand?"

  I looked at her, confused, but she looked more concerned than angry. I should have heard that in her tone. What was going on?

  The doctor pricked my arm, drawing blood, then shoving it into a spectroscope, and what looked like a multi-chamber tox-scanner. The tox-scanner beeped.

  Voidmunching beeps. Didn't people around here know not to disturb others with their signals? I drew breath to tell them so, remembered Riina's admonition, and clamped my lips shut by biting on them before I managed to do something stupid.

  Stupid-er. The encounter with com-man slid into my awareness. That had been a crudmungingly stupid thing to do. What in the cold void had I been thinking?

  "Traces of phenethylamine," the doctor said. "N-acetine, pyrovalerine. Taro root, a sizable dose."

  "The raven juice?" Saradon said, glancing at Traz.

  "He might not recognize the taste," Traz acknowledged. "My fault."

  "Nonsense," Saradon said. "But better remove him before things escalate."

  Which was the moment when I realized that the two semi-circles surrounding us contained a large amount of armed men, all of them with their hands on their ridiculously long guns.